Izaryle's Prison Page 10

  Ravion escorted the woman to one of the larger buildings. It was one of the few two-story structures in town and the only one with a collection of glass windows along the upper floor. A single wooden door, painted red, stood near the center of the wide establishment. Despite its aged appearance it was in much better condition than the other buildings surrounding it. Ravion grabbed the brass handle and pulled the door open, gesturing the woman to enter.

  She smiled, patting him on the arm and stepped inside.

  The interior had the strong scent of pine. Ravion glanced around at the wooden furniture carved of cedar and other soft woods. They were coated in heavy layers of flax oil, leaving a glossy sheen on their smoothed surfaces. Looking around at the occupants he noticed a few elderly men sitting at one of the tables playing a game of cards. They didn't bother looking up from their game. A portly man was hard at word in the back room rolling out dough on the counter top. He was covered in flour and glistening beads of sweat clung to his forehead. Overall, it was a fairly relaxed setting. Roughly twelve tables made up the common room, with a dining room on the far side and the kitchen beyond that. To his right, a small section was elevated by a platform just wide enough for a band to find comfort. Across from the stage, leading above the dining room, a waxed banister wrapped around and disappeared into the layer above.

  The elderly woman turned to him, weakly balancing herself. “Take a seat. I'll get you a key.” Refusing to wait for a response she pressed onward making her way across the common room, toward the kitchen.

  Ravion picked a table near the stairs ensuring he could watch the entrance. If he was going to spend any time here he needed to scout the place and find any other exits. Taking his seat he stretched his back against the wooden supports. It was a comfort he desperately missed. Reaching into his belt pouch, Ravion pulled a stained leather bag and a long-stemmed pipe. Packing it full of the stale tobacco, he put the stem in his mouth and searched the room. Spotting his query he quickly stood and made for the fireplace to the left of the entrance. Reaching up he grabbed a spill from the ceramic jar and carefully stuck it into the fire, watching the end ignite. Gently drawing on the pipe, the tobacco turn black and started to burn. Ensuring it would remain lit, Ravion tossed the thin stick into the flames and returned to his seat. Blowing a large puff of smoke into the air he watched a man step through the entrance, pausing in search of the occupants.

  His eyes locked on Ravion. Approaching, he pulled out a chair and took a seat across from him. “That was quite the speech you gave. I must say, I'm impressed.”

  “And you are?” Ravion quickly assessed the man. He clearly didn't belong to the commoners of this land. His dress was too fine for that. Smooth skin covered his face, suggesting he'd recently had a shave. His dark brown hair was clean and combed over.

  “Ah, forgive me. I sometimes forget my name has little meaning elsewhere. I am Wallace Thurmoau. I've made it my personal duty to aid the fine people of this land, much as you yourself have proclaimed. The Rite of Godreu is a nasty business and you'll need all the help you can get.”

  “Godrick.” Ravion corrected.

  “My mistake. So what do you say? Do you feel like making an ally?”

  “Mister, Wallace, was it?” Ravion leaned for forward in his chair, removing any idle language from his stature.

  “That's correct, Wallace Thurmoau”

  “Well, Mister Wallace Thurmoau, what is it exactly that you do?”

  “I deal in new beginnings. Let's say you've had a run of bad luck. You come to me, I take a look at the problems you're having and make them go away. For a modest fee, of course.”

  “And these problems, am I to assume they're of a monetary nature?”

  “Is there any other kind?”

  “I see. Well, Mister Wallace Thurmoau.” Ravion paused, leaning against the backrest. “I do not find myself in need of your services. In fact, I feel you're very presence and position in this city is one of the many problems that requires fixing. When these trials are up, I'll be taking a close look into your business endeavors. Take that as you will, Mister Wallace Thurmoau. Though I hope you'll have the foresight to straighten your affairs before I find myself in a position to do something about them.”

  Wallace jumped up, knocking over his chair. It crashed to the floor, echoing out a loud pop. “Now wait just a minute! I'm a reputable business man. You'll show me the proper respects.”

  A mild smirk formed at the sight of the enraged man. He looked like a child throwing a tantrum for not getting his way. Ravion casually took another drag off his pipe, blowing the smoke to the side as if to prevent further insult. “Let me stop you there before you say something you're going to regret.”

  “I might say the same to you! Just who the hell do you think you are threatening me like that?”

  “Ravion Santail, Dreuslayer and founder of The Order, Councilman of Marbayne. And former escort for the previous Baron of Dalmoura, Arch-Magus Perrimen Sarandar.” He offered mock salute with his pipe, refusing to stand.

  “I… You're… But… You have no status here, Dreuslayer! What makes you think you can interfere in my affairs?”

  Ravion sighed heavily, laying his pipe on the table. Leaning forward he spoke as clear and calm as possible, hoping the man would get the hint. “Aside from the treaties signed by all the lords of Dalmoura, my border wardens have legal right to enter any land for the purpose of justice. If that weren't reason enough, I'll soon complete these trials and I'll have lordship over this land. At which point no amount of groveling or bribery will be able to protect you from me. Now, I suggest you either pay these fine people for their services and have a meal or go about your day.”

  Wallace's face flushed red. Short of drawing the dagger stuffed in his waistband, there wasn't much he could do in response to the insolence this man offered. And a single dagger against a trained warrior? There was no way he could win. “Good day, Mister. I suggest you keep a set of eyes behind you. Never know when someone's going to make a move.”

  Ravion smiled at the coward. “Is that a threat?”

  “Just a friendly reminder.” Wallace offered a half-hearted salute and turned, making his way out the door.

  The woman returned carrying a small, brass key tied by a piece of twine. She laid the key on the table and bent down, picking the chair up and returning it to its proper location. “Wallace Thurmoau. She shook her head. He's nothing but trouble.”

  “Did you have some experience with him?”

  “Aye, a few years ago. Just got him paid back last summer. Took every bit of savings we had, but we're done with him now thank the gods. What can I get you to eat?”

  “Anything without turnips, thank you.”

  She nodded and made her way back toward the kitchen.

  A few moments later a young man brought out a platter with sliced meat and stewed vegetables piled around it. A large hunk of bread rested on the edge of the plate, the bottom side slightly soggy from the collection of juices. The man sat the dish on the table, sliding it across to the seated warrior. “What can I get ya’ to drink?”

  “If you have any available, I'll have tea. Though if not, water's fine.”

  He bowed and rushed off.

  Ravion moved the bread in hopes that it wouldn't collect any more moisture. Spooning the vegetables he took a bite, tasting the butter melted into them.

  The young man returned a moment later carrying a small, glass mug and ceramic pitcher. Steam rose from the top. He laid the cup on the table and poured the water into it. It swirled, turning a murky brown from the minced leaves resting at the bottom. He slid the cup across the table and set the pitcher on the edge. Pulling out a chair he took a seat. “So, yer’ gonna help us get out from under ol' Wallace, huh?”

  Ravion wiped the food from his mouth and regarded the boy. He had to have been in his late teens. More than likely trapped in such an existence, tending to his parent’s needs. There was no shame in it, though he never desired su
ch a life. “One of many issues I'd like to assist with.”

  “Well, good luck with em'. Guy's a snake. Wouldn't surprise me if he's throwing money around right now. Probably gonna’ hire someone to come after you. That's what he does to people that can't pay em'.”

  “He fancies himself too righteous to get his hands dirty.” One of the men playing cards said from across the room.

  Ravion glanced over at them. Their game had ceased. Now all eyes were on him. “I assume you've seen this?”

  “Don't have to see it. Been through it. ‘Bout five years back, I owed him a handful of silver. He hired some kids to come beat on me every day for a week. At the end I was still two silver short. He had my leg broken. Wouldn't do it himself. Always sent someone else to deliver the message.”

  “That ain't all.” The boy interjected. “He's got a whole group of guys workin’ for em'. One of these shops misses a payment, he sends em' to rough the place up.”

  Ravion took a sip of the tea. It had just a hint of citrus mixed with barley. “I see. Sounds like I may have my work cut out for me. Do any of you know what I'm looking to face during these trials?”

  The elderly man shuffled the deck of cards and began dealing them out again. “I've never seen anyone finish them. It's a week-long trial. The sole object is to survive. Nothing is off limits. If you last the week, the position’s yours. I don't recall anyone other than the mage completing them.”

  “I thought you said you've never seen anyone finish.”

  “I did. I've been around a long time and never seen it. The mage was before my time. He was the last lord we had. Though nobody's sure why he left. Some say he went on to bigger things. Others say the seat is cursed. Hard to say. But nobody last long.”

  “This mage. Did he have a name?”

  “Sure did. Though they say the chair strips it from you. Don't know if there's any truth to that. He was called Primeren when I was a boy. Never heard it spoken again after he disappeared. Throne's been empty ever since.”

  “Good to know.”

  “No problem.” The man shifted to face his friend, clearly growing impatient with his lack of attention. “Oh, one more thing. You'd better learn to sleep with one eye open. When I said anything goes, I meant it. The last kid who tried had his throat slit while he was asleep. These people don't hold anything back.”

  “Thank you. I'll keep that in mind.”

  Staggering from the powerful blow, Ravion caught himself before he fell. He exhaled, forcing his senses into submission. His blackened vision returned revealing the head of a large mallet headed straight for him. Relying on his agility he twisted, narrowly dodging the crushing blow. A fence post collapse in his stead. Noting the large man's broad side, Ravion thrust his palm outward, shoving firming into the fleshy part of man's shoulder.

  Caught off guard by the unexpected pressure point, th man staggered sideways, the buried hammer slipping from his grip.

  Ravion spun around, using the distraction to position himself. Stepping behind the man he jumped on his back, locking his arms around his thick, muscular throat. He could feel the throbbing pulse beneath his grip, increasing against constriction.

  Dozens of spectators cheered from the outskirts of the battle, careful to keep their distance. They didn't want to risk getting caught in the fight. Some feared for the smaller, more agile man. While others in the crowd cheered the brute, begging him to spill blood.

  Ravion could hear the mixed cheers. They were the least of his concerns at the moment. So long as everyone kept their distance he wasn't overly concerned.

  The barbarian panted heavily, staggering against the added weight. His already red face was beginning to turn purple from lack of oxygen.

  Ravion felt the man growing weak. “Did Wallace hire you?”

  Choking on his words, he managed to get the single syllable out. “Yhus!”

  Ravion squeezed as hard as he could, feeling bones pop beneath his arms. He wasn't sure if they were his own or his prey. Clinging tight, he felt the man stumble.

  The brute fell face first into the dirt, sending a cloud of dust into the air around them.

  Ravion felt the impact. Even softened by his cushion it didn't help his arm any. His elbow throbbed, but he'd survive. Ensuring the fight was finished, he slowly released his hold, hoping the man would stay down. Ravion ensured the man was still breathing. There was no sense in killing him over something so trivial.

  The barbarian drooled into the dusty road, unaware of the world around him. His chest heaved, compensating for the lack of air he'd suffered.

  Smiling, Ravion stood to his full height, knocking the dust from his clothing. He rubbed his bruised elbow, feeling the broken skin at the nub. It was bruised and tender, but relatively minor all things considered. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked at the mixture of glossy perspiration, blood, and smeared dirt clung to his fingers. Instinctively, he wiped it on his pant leg and searched the crowd for any other challengers. He took a small amount of pleasure locking eyes on the several he'd already defeated. They hadn't expected him to be ready for their ambush. Their whole plan fell apart having underestimated his superior dexterity.

  A sharp pain shot through his side. Caressing his ribs, Ravion softly pushed, hoping it would ease the pain. He couldn't be sure, but it was possible two of them were broken. Though he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of knowing that. Slowly making way for the water trough, Ravion dipped his hands into the cold water and cleaned his face. The cool liquid rouse his senses. He glanced at the sheathed sword stashed beneath it, happy it was still there. Eyeing his father's hilt, he took a large gulp and turned to make his way toward the center of the crossroads again. It was foolish, but he declined the use of his weapon. If he didn’t have to kill anyone, maybe he could keep it that way. There was no reason to take a life over such silly sport. Besides, doing the rite barehanded would prove he was the strongest among them.

  Ravion marched to the center of the crossroad, burying his pain. Throwing his hands up despite the shooting agony in his side, he shouted above the chatter of the voyeurs. “I’ve bested every man that’s had the courage to face me. I’ve done so without weapon, for the glory and honor required of me by the parameters of the Rite of Godrick and the sacred laws of Krondar. Is there anyone else who will face me?”

  The crowd erupted in deafening roar of shouts and celebration. Not a single word could be heard above the commotion.

  Ravion searched their rank, unsure where the next one was coming from. He needed to find him quick. It wouldn't serve his purpose to be hit before he was ready.

  A glimmering head towered above the rest, pushing its way through to the front. Clear of the line, an even larger man than the last was revealed. He wore a blood red tunic and tan, leather breeches covered in soot. His bald head was offset by a long, handlebar mustache. He didn't carry a weapon, but from the look of his bulging muscles he didn't need one. The challenger stepped into the opening, pressing his knuckles against each other.

  Ravion heard them pop from the distance. Wiping the blood from his face, he took a deep breath and prepared himself for the fight.

  The man charged, ramming his shoulder into the dreuslayer's gut. Lifting him into the air he carried him across the clearing and rammed into one of the fence posts. It splintered beneath their weight and broke, sending Ravion to the ground with it.

  Panic enveloped him, stealing his breath. Forcing himself to remain calm, Ravion sucked through his nose, hoping to avoid taking too much at once. It was hard to breathe through the dried blood collected in his nasal passage but it was required if he was going to be methodical.

  The huge man grabbed his dirty, loose fitting, blue clothing. Pulling him from the dirt he lifted him a few feet and slammed him back into the ground. Wasting no time he drew back and punched, hoping to break the smaller man's will.

  Ravion saw the incoming blow. Throwing his hand, he caught the man's arm and slowed the attack. Seizing th
e opportunity he kicked out, wrapping his legs around the man's shoulders and head. He squeezed with every ounce of strength he had hoping to drain him of his raw power.

  The challenger easily lifted and slammed him back down. He was severely limited in his current state. Lifting again, he repeated the process, unable to break the agile dreuslayer's hold.

  Ravion exhaled each time he hit the ground, keeping his body under control. The pain was excruciating, but he had to endure. For Senaria! Squeezing tighter, the man began to weaken beneath his grip. He had to compliment the man on his tactic. It was a good attempt, but he'd planned for such by using each blow to strengthen his hold. It wouldn't be much longer now. His legs were compressing the man's throat. A moment longer and he wouldn't be able to breathe. That would give him the upper hand he'd been waiting for. The man slammed him into the ground again, heaving between his legs. It seemed he lacked the strength to pick him up again.

  The grip tightened around his throat. He had to break free. He couldn't hold his breath for long and even if he could, there were other ways to shut a man down with access to his neck. He was already beginning to slow and his arms were getting heavy.

  Ravion tightened, taking the slack from his exhausting opponent. He'd already won, so long as nothing changed in the next few seconds. But it would. It always did. Ravion forced a premature smile beneath the surface. Not because he wasn’t entitled to it, but because it was possible his nose would start to bleed again. Feeling the last bit of strength leave his opponent he stared into his pleading eyes. “Are you one of Wallace's boys?”

  The man shook his head as best he could.

  “I thank you for that. You have my respect.” Squeezing a moment longer, the man fell limp. Releasing his hold, Ravion ensured no permanent damage was done to either himself or the unconscious man. He stretched his back, feeling his ribs pop back into place. If anything they felt better now. Knocking the dust from him once again, he turned to the crowd. “Is there no one else?” Searching their faces, he hoped no one would step forward.